


I Don’t Believe Whatever This Is

by trashcangimmick



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Billy Hargrove Is An InstaHoe, Everyone’s A Switch, Frenemies with Benefits, It’s True And I Should Say It, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Rimming, secret fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-10-31 22:23:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17858087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashcangimmick/pseuds/trashcangimmick
Summary: “Christ, I just wanna fucking eat you.”“So do it, coward.”Also Known As: Billy and Steve are casual sex friends and there are Definitely No Feelings Here.





	I Don’t Believe Whatever This Is

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brawlite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brawlite/gifts).



> Steal their look: brawls edition. This is an unpaid advertisement for [IDKHBTFM](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-hrRC7_HqYA&list=PLxPYVjvoq1gv1t9uHvMLZcRtv0I35yleV). I’m not sorry for the memes.

**hey.**

 

**heyyyy.**

 

**u up??**

 

Steve groans at the dim light of his phone screen. It’s late. Really fucking late. He  _ was _ sleeping. Should still be sleeping. But nothing wakes him up faster than his text tone. It’s way more effective than an alarm clock. 

 

Before he can ever begin to gather himself to respond, that chime rings through the silence. 

 

**i’m in pilsen. u wanna smoke?**

 

Fucking Billy. Steve shouldn’t be surprised at this point. The first few times, it stung. The late night  **_wyd_ ** texts in between days, or even weeks, of radio silence. Steve is stupid. Stupid enough to respond, every single time Billy has done this for the past three months. But not so stupid he doesn’t understand the concept of a booty call, and how little it means. 

 

He didn’t really have any illusions about what would happen after the first time he got too drunk at some house party and ended up sucking Billy Hargrove’s dick in the bathroom. In fact, he was kinda surprised that Billy returned the favor. He half expected to just get throat fucked and left hanging. He was also surprised when Billy grabbed his phone, typed a number in, and said,  _ hit me up sometime.  _

 

It was probably naïve to actually text him, thinking they’d hang out. Billy is always ‘busy’ when it’s light outside, and there are other better, cooler people he could be taking pictures with to put on his carefully curated instagram feed. Billy has a lot of places to be. The gym, parties, concerts, trendy bars, expensive restaurants where he’s certainly not the one picking up the check, always ready for his photo op. Always looking unfairly sexy in that way that is actually  _ anger _ inducing. Like. Steve wants to punch him in the face. 

 

The only time he’s not too busy for Steve is when he’s horny, and nobody else is picking up. Steve doesn’t even see the point in wondering where he is on the list. How many guys Billy texts before it gets down to him. That particular thought spiral is depressing. 

 

He’s still debating how catty he should be (not  _ if _ he should respond at all) when the phone chimes again. 

 

**turn off ur read receipts if you wanna ignore me bitch.**

 

**_It’s like 3 in the morning._ **

 

**and it’s fuckin cold. buzz me in.**

 

**_You’re outside my building???_ **

 

**yeah.**

 

**so buzz me in.**

 

Steve would ask what he’s done to deserve this. But then he thinks back to high school. All the girls who hung around, hoping he’d take them on a real date rather than just fuck them in the back seat of his dad’s Beamer and not even offer to buy them food before dropping them off back at their house. What goes around comes around, or something. Being on this side of it sucks. 

 

Maybe the only reason Steve’s still putting up with this is guilt. The feeling he needs to suffer for his sins. Maybe he’s just not as hot a commodity in a big city like Chicago, and he knows he couldn’t get away with the sort of stunts he pulled in small town Indiana. He’s not ugly. But here he’s… he’s what people call Cute. He can get laid when he wants to. If he makes an effort. But nobody’s banging down the door to get on his dick. And that’s fine. It’s whatever. 

 

It just also means he’d be insane to pass when someone as hot as Billy is offering to get him off. So he pulls on some sweatpants, socks, and a hoodie. He walks across the cold, hardwood floor. He stops short of actually going downstairs. He just leans on the buzzer until he hears hinges squeak. He stands in the half open door of his apartment until he sees Billy appear at the bottom of the staircase. Flushed from the winter air. Snowflakes sprinkled across his wool scarf and hat. 

 

He looks like a fucking hallmark card. Steve wants to set him on fire. 

 

Instead he just steps aside as Billy walks in, not bothering to wipe his feet. Little puddles of ice already melting on the floor. 

 

“Jesus, this snow is gonna kill me.” Billy kicks off his boots. Takes off his jacket and tosses it over the nearest chair. Like he owns the place or something. 

 

It’s a good thing Steve doesn’t have roommates. There’s nobody to judge him for the way he just passively follows Billy to the couch. The way he doesn’t protest when Billy digs out a little glass pipe and lights it up without waiting for permission. He passes the bowl to Steve, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke. He takes off his hat and scarf, ruffling a hand through his soft blonde curls. He’s got the same haircut as every other twentysomething in Chicago. Sides shaved down to a one. Couple inches of fringe on top. It looks good on him. Anything would.

 

“You would not believe the night I’ve had bro.” Billy lets out a long sigh. “One of Jerry’s friends was all coked out and wouldn’t leave me the fuck alone. Just kept begging me to go home with him and trying to grope me. Like, I had to peace without saying goodbye to anybody while he was in the bathroom.”

 

“Shit. That sucks man.” Steve takes the lighter Billy offers. A white plastic bic. Under normal circumstances, he’d mention how white lighters are bad luck. But it seems in poor taste. Like, he feels bad that Billy was getting sexually harassed. But y’know. He also feels bad that Billy’s never in his neighborhood to see him specifically. It’s always that he had other plans and they just happened to go off the rails. 

 

Billy has a habit of offering tons of information Steve didn’t ask for. Always casually bragging about his robust social life. The hot dudes he’s met at Berlin. Riot Fest passes he scored by sucking off a friend of a friend. How some sleazy guy at a party gave him a business card and asked if he wanted to be in a SeanCody video and he’s thinking about doing it because like, money, and also why shouldn’t he get paid to fuck when he’s basically operating on a professional level already?

 

Sometimes, Steve wants so ask,  _ if you’ve got so much going on why do you bother with me at all? _

 

But as Steve’s dad, the lawyer, always used to say—never ask a question you don’t already know the answer to. The only useful piece of advice he’s ever handed out for free. Whether Steve isn’t pressing this line of inquiry because he’s unsure, or if he’s avoiding it because he knows the answer and doesn’t like it, seems irrelevant. 

 

They smoke in relative silence. After the second bowl, Billy wanders into the kitchen. Comes back with a glass of water, an unopened package of oreos, and an Anti-Hero IPA. None of which were offered, but Steve’s not gonna say anything. He just turns on It’s Always Sunny, at a reasonably low volume because it’s still really late, and wonders what’s gone wrong in his life.

 

He should probably kick Billy out. Or like, bring him a blanket and tell him to sleep on the couch. He should suck it up and get back on Tindr and find someone who’s like a solid six or seven that’s actually excited about being seen with him in public. There are a lot of things Steve  _ should _ do. Billy has never been one of them. 

 

But then Billy’s finished an entire sleeve of cookies, and drained the beer, and he’s crawling into Steve’s lap. Kissing his neck. His cheek. Then finally letting their lips brush together. The lurch of need makes Steve’s head spin. When their tongues touch, he’s breathless. Billy is a really fucking good kisser. Just the right mix of aggression and teasing.

 

Steve didn’t understand what people meant when they talked about  _ chemistry _ until Billy Hargrove fisted a hand in his hair and kissed him dizzy. He hates it. Hates how it makes everything so much harder. No pun intended. But if it weren’t so good, Steve wouldn’t be acting like such a pathetic addict. 

 

“Damn, baby,” Billy murmurs. Smug. He’s always so fucking smug. He reaches down, palming Steve through his pants. “You’re already hard for me, huh?” 

 

“Shut up.” Steve can feel the heat in his cheeks. Feels his heart pounding in his throat. This cocktail of embarrassed, adrenaline fueled lust is too much to cope with.

 

“I’m never gonna be over how huge your dick is. Like. It’s obscene.”

 

Billy’s already pulling down the waistband of Steve’s sweatpants. Wrapping a calloused hand (lifting clauses, Billy has mentioned more than once) around his cock. Stroking it so lightly, it’s infuriating more than anything. Steve whines. Can’t help the pathetic little sound. Billy grins, licks up the side of Steve’s neck.

 

“Christ, I just wanna fucking eat you.”

 

“So do it, coward.” Steve manages to inflect just a hint of the condescension Billy tends to bring to the table. 

 

“Mmmm, feisty tonight, huh?” Billy bites him on the shoulder. Drags his teeth over skin hard enough to sting. Probably hard enough to bruise. “Want me to pin you down and eat you out till you’re begging to get fucked? That what you’re after? I mean, I kinda came over here to get on this monster cock, but I’m flexible.”

 

“Porque no los dos?”

 

“That’s the fuckin’ spirit.”

 

Billy’s tugging at Steve’s clothes with an eagerness that’s frankly a little scary. Steve’s into it. Obviously. He’s living for this. He’s so here for it when Billy shoves him face down into the cracked leather, grabs his ass cheeks, squeezes and spreads. Steve’s suddenly grateful he decided that  _ self care _ meant a really long bath and a ride on his favorite vibrator before he went to bed. Billy is weird, and gross, and is the sort of guy who will show up right as Steve’s getting home from the gym and demand they fuck before any showering happens. But it’s a thing  _ Steve _ cares about, you know.

 

Still, Steve’s not gonna complain about it when Billy starts licking him. Teasing him with that sinful tongue. Somehow wide and pointed at the same time. 

 

Steve shudders. He’s fucking leaking. The room his cold, but he’s sweating. The couch is going to be a sticky mess before long. 

 

_ “Billy,” _ he sounds like a bitch. He knows it. Later, he’ll probably be embarrassed about it. Right now, he just doesn’t care.

 

Billy growls. Swirls his tongue just so. It would make Steve’s knees go weak if he weren’t already lying down. Billy gets a finger in and licks around it. Spits, slides another in. It’s sloppy. Filthy. Steve can barely keep from humping the cushion underneath him. 

 

“You got lube out here, baby?” Billy nips at the back of Steve’s thigh. 

 

“No,” Steve sounds a lot breatheir than he should. “It’s… in my room, I think.”

 

“Well, let’s go.”

 

Before Steve can register what’s happening, Billy’s picked him up. It’s  _ devastating _ that Billy can do that. Just scoop Steve up in a freaking bridal hold and carry him down the hall. Billy can bench press him. Steve knows this from experience. It’s hard to be mad about what a freaking gym rat the guy is when Steve gets to appreciate the results.

 

Billy throws Steve down onto his bed. Strips out of his clothes, while Steve fumbles around on the ground and manages to grab the lube that’s always sitting out on the floor. Another nice thing about living alone. He doesn’t bother hiding his sex toys or supplies, he can just leave them wherever.

 

Then Billy’s on him. Kissing him. Rolling their bodies together. He’s even more upsetting naked than he is fully clothed. God. He’s fucking ripped. Nothing but sculpted muscle. But somehow still lean, like, not so overly bulky that it teeters into the uncanny valley of unattractiveness.  

 

Steve hands over the lube and holds on for the ride. Fisting his hands in the sheets. Biting his lip to keep from moaning as Billy finger fucks him. It’s not fair how good it feels. Billy’s fingers are so thick. He moves them just right. Christ. 

 

“C’mon,” his speech is starting to drag. Like he’s drunk. Maybe it’s the weed kicking in. Maybe it’s just Billy. The way he makes Steve feel all sorts of fucked up and dazed whenever he’s within reaching distance.

 

“Hmm? What was that?” Billy grins, sliding his pinky in alongside the other three fingers. 

 

“Fuck me. I’m gonna… ”

 

“Gonna come like this? You’re so easy. It’s wild. Do I really turn you on that much? Or are you just a slut.”

 

“You’re the worst.”

 

But then Billy’s fingers are gone. He slicks his cock up. Always uses so much lube. It gets everywhere. Kinda worth it though, for how good it feels when he presses forward. Slides in so smooth. 

 

Steve’s in his happy place. Stretched and full, and so close to the edge he’s gonna go over any second. Billy grabs Steve’s legs, under the knees, and presses them up until they’re bent, and the tops of Steve’s thighs are touching his stomach. Billy keeps him like that. Legs spread wide and folded in a way that makes movement impossible. 

 

Then he goes for it. He fucks Steve  _ hard _ and fast, like a goddamn animal. Billy isn’t as big as Steve, but he’s also not small. It burns. Steve’s gonna be sore tomorrow. He’ll probably finger himself, or maybe even get out a dildo, and get off on how tender he is. 

 

The slap of their skin echoes in the quiet room. Steve can’t decide if the squelching, slick sounds are gross, or hot, or both. He’s holding his breath because it makes everything that much more intense. He desperately wants to touch himself… but sometimes, he can get off just from Billy fucking him. And that’s always such a rush.

 

“God, you feel so good,” Billy gasps. Thrusts getting irregular. 

 

Steve wishes they were kissing. Has the urge to reach up and pull Billy down against him. Hold him. But that’s not what this is. So he just focuses on the sensation. Billy pounding into him. Dragging against his prostate. He can feel himself tensing. Pleasure singeing his nerve endings. Too much. Not enough. He’s a fucking goner. 

 

His whole body rocks with it. Hips jerking. Muscles spasming, tightening and releasing, flooding him with exhausted relief. 

 

Billy buries himself deep as he can get and goes still. He lets go of Steve’s thighs. Slumps down on top of him. Lays there for a minute, just panting. Steve couldn’t move if he wanted to. 

 

“Damn, we’re great at sex.” Billy licks Steve’s collarbone. Sucks on it a little. Leaving more bruises. 

 

“Yeah. We really are.”

 

Billy sits back, slipping out of Steve. He smiles, pushing two fingers into Steve’s wrecked hole. Just playing with the mess of jizz and lube, because he’s a dirty perv. Steve whines, and bats at his arm. Embarrassed. Oversensitive. And Billy relents. 

 

He gets up and disappears for a few minutes. Comes back with another beer and his bowl. He lights up, sitting cross legged on Steve’s bed, still completely nude. Steve hits the pipe when it’s offered. He must doze off. Because, you know, it’s like four in the morning. 

 

When he wakes up, Billy’s straddling his hips. Kissing his neck.

 

“C’mon, dude. You can’t pass out yet.”

 

He’s hard. Kinda rutting against Steve’s stomach. It’s a compelling argument for staying conscious. Steve’s already chubbing up again. Then Billy starts jacking him off. And yeah. He’s here to party.

 

Billy is kind of obsessed with Steve’s dick. Never passes up an opportunity to play with it. Lick it. Get it in. Apparently, Billy was fingering himself while Steve was napping. Because he’s guiding Steve’s cock between his legs, and it’s already so wet. The tip of Steve’s dick pops in without much issue. Billy whimpers. Pushes back. Takes a truly impressive amount in one go. Most people don’t even try to get all the way down. But Billy is competitive. Always wants to be The Best. 

 

“Holy fuck,” he breathes. Ragged. Flushed. His lips are all puffy and kissed bruised. It’s no mystery why random guys are trying to recruit him to be in porn. Billy is hedonism personified. Exudes bacchanalian indulgence. 

 

He feels like a heaven. Smooth, slippery heat. So goddamn tight. Steve grabs his ass. Just to squeeze it. Billy obviously puts the work in for it to be so perfectly round. Least Steve can do is appreciate it.

 

Steve’s still floating in the lassitude of sleep. Relaxed. Dreamy. Billy doesn’t seem to be in a hurry either. He’s just grinding on Steve, slow and dirty. He leans in to smear their mouths together. Tastes like smoke and bitter hops. 

 

Billy’s cock is drooling on Steve’s (not nearly ripped) abs. Leaving a sticky, snail trail of excitement. It’s hard not to wonder if Billy always acts this into it when he fucks people. He doesn’t come off as the sort of guy who’d let himself express such enthusiasm. Maybe Steve’s just “safe” or something. He’s had girls tell him that before. That he makes them feel comfortable. He’s non threatening. Girls tend to say that sort of shit more than guys do. But that doesn’t mean everyone’s not thinking it.

 

Steve wraps a hand around Billy’s dick. Starts teasing him, just rubbing his thumb across the silky head. Billy makes the most beautiful sounds. All breathy and needy. Vulnerable. Steve knows for a fact that Billy could kick his ass. Could shove him against a wall and choke him out. Could probably punch him hard enough to break something, or even manage a one hit KO. It’s intoxicating to have someone that’s so much stronger split open on his cock. Trembling and at his mercy. 

 

_ “Steve,”  _ Billy moans. Like a bitch. It tugs at something hot and primal. 

 

Steve starts to rock up into him. Matching Billy’s lazy pace. Somehow, the sedated tempo just makes it more intense. Billy’s suddenly tighter. Then he’s shuddering apart. Splattering over Steve’s already filthy stomach. 

 

He keeps clenching around Steve. It’s so much. Steve just has to thrust into him a few more times, then he’s right there too. Grunting, dazed, and just like, Living. This is the best he ever feels. 

 

They stay tangled up in each other for a while. Steve really should get up and like, attempt some damage control. But his sheets are probably toast. So there’s not a lot of urgency behind that feeling. He does manage to stumble to the bathroom and clean up a little before the drowsiness threatens to put him under where he stands. He makes it back to the bed. Lays down, trying to avoid the wet spot. Which means he’s right next to Billy, who is pressed up to the wall. 

 

It’s not cuddling. It just feels nice to be pressed against a warm body, is all. 

 

***

 

Someone’s phone is chiming. Repeatedly. Steve blinks. Bright light streams through the window. Billy’s snoring next to him. Mouth half open. Drooling on the pillow. 

 

The chiming doesn’t stop. Steve flails. Reaching for the source. Billy’s stupid phone. 

 

Is it snooping to read texts as they’re popping across the notification screen? Probably. Does Steve care? Well.

 

They’re from David H. One of Billy’s douchebag  _ bros  _ that plays intramural Rugby and is probably a registered sex offender.

 

**u have my weeeeed u asshole**

 

**u owe me like $50 for that i stg**

 

**where the fuck did u even go last night?**

 

**if ur at steve’s again i’m gonna scream**

 

**ur such a fag**

 

**why dont u just invite him over instead of dipping out to go to his house all the time**

 

Steve’s eyebrows creep upwards. He’s not awake enough to comprehend any of this. He’s frankly surprised Billy’s friends know his name. How anyone could even guess that Billy’s here of all places… 

 

Billy groans. Steve puts the phone down. He drops it, actually. Startled. Almost caught in the act. 

 

_ “Whatime ‘s it,” _ Billy mumbles. Eyes half open. Bleary.

 

Steve looks over at his deeply Ironic,  _ Hey Arnold _ radio alarm clock. 

 

“Uh… it’s like… two?”

 

“Fuck.” Billy wriggles further under the sheets. “I don’t wanna.”

 

“I mean, you got somewhere to be?”

 

“Probably. I don’t know. People always want me to be somewhere.”

 

“I could um… make breakfast, or lunch, or something. If you’re hungry.”

 

“Yeah?” Billy perks up slightly.

 

“Sure.”

 

“That’s fucking adorable. I love it. Chivalry isn’t dead.”

 

Billy hops out of bed, not putting on any clothes and heads straight for the bathroom. Steve hears the shower start, and just rolls his eyes. He puts on a baggy sweater and some basketball shorts before going to the kitchen. He’s not a very good cook. So he just pours pancake mix and water into a bowl and stirs. Heats up a cast iron pan. Puts on some music.  _ 1981 Extended Play _ by IDKHBTFM is a whole vibe and… it kind of reminds him of Billy. 

 

_ I wanna take you home, a night out on the town. Say you’re pretty so you stand up, stand up, before I drag you down.  _

 

He dollops our way too much batter, creating a monster pancake. The first one is always a wash. He’s paying more attention to how it’s bubbling than the approaching footsteps on the creaky floor. 

 

“And here, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, we have exhibit  _ gay _ making me pancakes.”

 

Steve looks up. Billy is grinning. Holding his phone. Clearly taking a video. 

 

“Oh my god, fuck you.” Steve groans. He doesn’t even want to think about what his hair currently looks like. 

 

“I mean, I’m up for round three.” Billy sticks his tongue out. 

 

He at least puts his phone away. But not before Steve’s chimes, telling him that ItsBillyBitch tagged him. And of course. Billy’s posted that fucking video for his 20k instagram followers to see. Steve looks like a goddamn cockatiel, hair standing up. He can’t decide if he’s embarrassed, or shocked, or deeply flattered that Billy has just flaunted the fact they’re fucking so publicly. 

 

Steve’s totally not gonna obsessively refresh the comments after Billy leaves. Totally, totally not. 

 

Billy takes the liberty of making the coffee. Snags the bottle of Kahlua off Steve’s liquor shelf and spikes his. Sometimes Steve worries about the amount that Billy drinks. But it’s not Steve’s place to say anything. Besides, Billy might just drink on weekends or something. Steve wouldn’t know. 

 

He manages to flip the pancakes without making a mess, which is an astounding achievement. Before long, he’s got a good stack of them, which he sets on the table with butter, honey and jam. Billy sits with him, in nothing but his boxers, hair still wet from the shower. He eats one and a half pancakes with only butter as a topping because  _ carbs bro, this is a lot even for a cheat day.  _ Steve could point out that Kahlua and beer have plenty of carbs in them too, but he doesn’t. He just eats what he can and puts the rest in the fridge in a ziplock bag for a snack later. 

 

Then they’re just both drinking coffee, no noise but the background music.  _ No need to cry, I’m only doing anything I wanna do because I do it all the time _ . Billy keeps crossing his legs, uncrossing them, fidgeting. 

 

“I guess I should go.” Billy says all abrupt after a few minutes. “I don’t wanna like, intrude on your day or whatever.”

 

“Oh… um. OK. I mean, I’m not doing anything important. It’s Sunday.”

 

Billy chews on his lip.

 

It occurs to Steve that he’s never offered to make food before. Billy tends to get dressed and leave immediately, if he spends the night at all. Steve always assumed it was just because Billy is busy and has better things to do. It never occurred to him that maybe… 

 

“I’ll probably just watch some TV and smoke. You’re welcome to hang out if you want to… ?” Steve can’t help inflecting it like a question. These are uncharted waters. 

 

“I mean, you probably do owe me a couple bowls.” Billy quirks an eyebrow. Sliding back towards smug. “Also you made me do all the work last night. I deserve to lie back and get fucked senseless.”

 

“Not my fault you’re bossy.” Steve shrugs. “You never even give me the chance to be in charge.”

 

“That’s fuckin’ Fair,” Billy laughs. 

 

He has a nice laugh. Steve doesn’t hear it very often. Maybe he’d like to hear it a lot more. Maybe it’s wishful thinking. Maybe it has always been stupid to expect Billy to take The Initiative just because he’s a cocky asshole, and it’s possible that even someone who’s hot and knows it can be afraid of rejection.

 

“You know,” Steve’s pulse is racing. Feels like he’s staring off the edge of a cliff. “I don’t make just anybody breakfast. You could say ‘ _ thank you, Steve _ ’ instead of wrecking my DM’s with a bunch of jealous bitches asking if I’m your boyfriend.”

 

“I mean, it nuked my inbox too.” Billy shrugs. “I don’t post videos with bad lighting for just anybody. So like, I think we’re even.”

 

“I’m already getting death threats.” Steve looks down at his notifications, which are a disaster. He’s gonna have to turn those off for a while. 

 

“Hoes be thirsty.”

 

“Billy, you can’t call anyone else a hoe.”

 

“What’s that mean?” Billy kicks him under the table. “I’m not a slut or something.”

 

Steve just  _ looks _ at him. 

 

“OK, maybe I’m sometimes a slut. But I mean… I’m not fucking anyone else right now. I bet you’re worse than I am. The amount of weird indie girls leaving desperate comments on your selfies is like, insane.”

 

“I’m not fucking anyone else.” Steve blinks. Billy reads the comments on his pictures?  _ Billy isn’t fucking anybody else? _

 

“Oh.” Billy seems shocked. He actually leans back in his chair a little bit, like the sentence knocked him off balance. 

 

“Do you wanna maybe, I dunno… go out for drinks sometime instead of just hanging out at my apartment?” Steve blurts out. Total non sequitur. He’s not smooth. 

 

“That could be fun.” Billy tilts his head. Biting his lip again, though it’s a completely different energy. 

 

“Cool.”

 

“Cool.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr.](http://trashcangimmick.tumblr.com/) Follow for disorganized screaming about Harringrove and a lot of shitposts.


End file.
